


just a legacy to protect

by Sanna_Black_Slytherin



Series: The Other 51 [21]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Asexual James Madison, Banter, Dinner Party, Fluff, Gen, Humor, James Madison being a sarcastic troll, James is so done with Alexander's antics, M/M, Politics, President Hamilton, Twitter, actually more like a cooking disaster, alexander hamilton: human disaster, no not the Hamilton&Madison&Jefferson one, the Hamilton&Madison&Chernow one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 20:04:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9140194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanna_Black_Slytherin/pseuds/Sanna_Black_Slytherin
Summary: The revelation that President Hampton is actually Alexander Hamilton, as told through Twitter.Also, a somewhat odd dinner party with only three invitees and a partially-burned kitchen, courtesy of one former Alexander Hamilton.





	

**Author's Note:**

> One disclaimer here: nobody send this to Ron Chernow, because he might just track me down and disembowel me for using him like this in my fic, and while death by historian sounds unique, I'm too young to die.
> 
> This one's working title was 'The Fic you know which one yeah that one', so go me for being creative when it comes to titles

_New York Post_ @nypost  
President Hampton the reincarnation of Alexander Hamilton?

 _George Clark_ @SenGeorgeClark  
@nypost It would certainly explain a lot.

* * *

“Alexander?” Angelica asked, opening the door carefully.

“Yes?” Alexander replied, not looking up from his work. “What is it, Angelica?” Angelica hesitated, which was so uncharacteristic of her that Alexander _did_ pause in his work. He fixed Angelica with a piercing gaze. “Angelica?” he repeated pointedly.

Angelica took a deep breath, seeming to steel herself. “The _New York Post_ is asking for a comment on the recent rumours that you used to be Alexander Hamilton in your past life.”

Alexander put down his pen. “What,” was all he could muster in response, and if the situation wasn't so odd, Angelica would have laughed at the usually loquacious polemic being reduced to this. As it was, she settled on shrugging helplessly. She felt that the gesture fully conveyed her feelings on the matter.

“The rumours began roughly two hours ago, but you were busy with meetings and you specifically told us not to interrupt them.”

Alexander rolled his eyes. “Well, _obviously_ that did not apply to an international news source accusing me of being… well, _me_ ,” he said laconically. “Advice?”

This time, Angelica did not hesitate. Alexander spared a second to consider how much thought she must have put into the subject during the past two hours, to be able to respond so quickly. She had probably made flowcharts. “You could deny it, of course, and I doubt that the _Post_ has any evidence to back up their claims, but this is an opportunity to come out, weird as it sounds. This isn't a crime, you know. You could just say that, while you haven't gone our publicly because this is your private life, you haven't gone to any great lengths to conceal it, either. Don't be ashamed of being a reincarnate, or of your past life.

“While you would obviously gain new critics, both for the fact that you more or less lied to the American people during your campaign, as well as for the sheer fact that you were Alexander Hamilton, a very controversial public figure–“

Alexander snorted at that. “Are you saying that I'm not controversial now? I recently got _shot_ because I was too controversial.”

“Point well taken,” Angelica conceded. “Still, while you would get new opponents—mostly Southern Jeffersonians, or, in modern terms, die-hard Republicans—who didn't approve of your measures the first time around, these people already disapprove of you as it is. On the plus side, you would benefit from the authority of being the first—as far as the public knows, anyway—reincarnated Founding Father. You would be all but worshiped by most people, although I can't fathom why anyone would want to worship _you_.”

“Jemmy will probably want to come clean as well,” Alexander mused, slowly coming around to the idea. “He never did like deceiving people, even if it was by omission.”

Angelica scoffed. “Politicians, you lot,” she said affectionately. “But yes, it would be a smart move for the both of you to divulge your past lives at the same time. It would have the additional benefit of stripping away Republican criticism against you if they could see that James Madison, Republican extraordinaire and your erstwhile political nemesis, supports your current policies and keeps you in check.

“And finally, people _will_ eventually connect the dots themselves. I mean, Alexander Hampton and Alexander Hamilton? Not much of a stretch. The same with James Morrow and James Madison. Lafayette is a bit obvious, too, so you might want to talk to him at some point, but you and James are more important right now,” she grimaced. “Once a rumour gets started, it's very hard to control it. You, of all people, know this. We could get ahead of it by confirming, doing it on our terms, so to speak, but, as I said, it is ultimately your choice.”

Alexander closed his eyes. “Fine. Let's do this.”

“Okay!” Angelica said brightly. “I mean, what's the worst that could happen, right?”

Alexander winced. “I hate it when people say that.”

* * *

 _National Gazette_ @natgazette  
White House remains quiet on #presidenthamilton rumours

* * *

Alexander's assistant entered his office at one point during the afternoon. “Mr. President?” she said loudly, knowing quite well at that point that subtlety was lost on Alexander, and that being upfront about whatever it was that was the matter was much more effective method of communication. “A certain Mr Ron Chernow called, asking whether you had the time to schedule an interview with him.”

Alexander hummed. “Smart choice,” he nodded approvingly. “Chernow is by far the most in-read historian about all matters Alexander Hamilton. He has read ten times as many texts of mine as he claims in his biography; that's what I would have done, at any rate, had I been writing a biography about someone.”

“You think that he wants to confirm your identity, then?” his assistant grinned.

Alexander scoffed. “Of course. Now, kindly reply that I would be willing to receive him anytime I am not busy with meetings. You know my schedule, you can set something up. In the case that our schedules don't match at all, I'm also free for dinner, although I've already invited Drawwood for Thursday, and Jemmy for our weekly Friday dinner. I doubt that either of them would mind having an extra guest, but I will check in with them anyway, and let you know shortly. Oh, and Kim?” the woman turned around, having already been on her way out of the office. “If Shi insinuates ever again that you aren't a woman just because of your birth certificate, do feel free to kick him in the crotch.”

“Duly noted, sir,” Kim smirked. “Thank you, sir.”

Alexander did not know about good, but it was already shaping up to be an interesting one.

* * *

_"President Hampton the reincarnation of Alexander Hamilton?_

In a statement just issued by the White House, President Hampton confirmed the rumor that he is indeed the reincarnation of the Founding Father, Alexander Hamilton. In another shocking twist, Vice President Morrow revealed that he, too, is a reincarnate of another Founding Father; James Madison.

Historians are currently en route to the White House to ascertain the veracity of these claims. If they are true, we are facing an unprecedented moment in the history of our country. Not only have two of the people most essential during the establishment of our country been reborn, but it would mean that our president and vice president used to be the worst of political nemeses in their past lives. Why are they working together? _Can_ they even work together, considering their personal history?

This revelation also casts a shadow of doubt on James Morrow's position as vice president. As most of Americans are aware, one need to be eligible for the presidency in order to be able to hold the office of vice president, in case one needs to step in—which James Morrow has done in the aftermath of the presidential shooting last winter. Now, Mr Madison has already served two terms as President of the United States, therefore making him, under the current legislature, ineligible for the presidency.

President Hampton says that, though they are reincarnates of the Founding Fathers, they are also completely different people from the their past lives. He claims that, according to this, James Morrow is eligible for another two terms for presidency, even though James Madison isn't:

 _“We do not believe that reincarnates should be discriminated against. Isn't reincarnation an opportunity for a second life, a chance to do better? We are not the same people we used to be. While I admit that I do have Alexander Hamilton's memories, I also have Alexander Hampton's memories. I no longer the same person as Alexander Hamilton any more than James is James Madison.” —_ President Alexander Hampton

This is never been relevant before, since, as far as we know, no reincarnate of a two-term U.S. President has also run for the presidency in their next life. The debate rages on: should we differentiate between James Morrow and James Madison?

Meanwhile, the public also asks themselves: Are there any more Founding fathers reborn? Why have they not come forward?"

_Edwin Cooper_

Chief editor

* * *

As it turned out, Drawwood _did_ mind, since she wanted to discuss her financial plan away from prying ears and nosy historians. Alexander, being a proponent of mixing work and pleasure, had to concur that a dinner was the ultimate time to do it. She was out, then.

James, on the other hand, practically shone up with joy when Alexander suggested a dinner with Ron Chernow. He had something of a platonic crush on the historian ever since reading his biography of Washington.

James was, aside from everything else, also bit of a sarcastic troll, as Alexander had discovered since meeting him again, but most people thought that he was serious due to the perpetually dry tone in which he spoke. Alexander was curious to see how Chernow would react to James, and he would be lying if he said that wasn't one of the reasons for issuing a double dinner invitation.

Not able to resist a punchline, Alexander planned to make mac and cheese, knowing that James would get the inside joke even if Chernow didn't.

The dinner was scheduled for eight in the evening, and Alexander made a valiant attempt to wrap everything up early, actually managing to finish for the day before seven—a new record. Jemmy would have been proud.

Alexander dismissed his usual kitchen staff—who were, if he was honest with himself, the only reason he ate more than one, microwaved meal a day. His chef gave him a dubious look when Alexander proclaimed that he wanted to make the meal himself, but left without a word—most likely not wanting to be responsible for what he perceived as the inevitable destruction of the kitchen.

Alexander would have taken offense, was he not woefully aware that the cook's fears were fully warranted. There was a reason Lafayette cooked whenever Alexander happened to give the cooks time off. James, too, had learned that lesson the hard way, back in college during their senior year, when they happened to be roommates. On the other hand, one of the firefighters was a fierce woman by the name of Dolley Thompson, so James did not complain too much.

James arrived just in time to see the cheese sauce begin to fizzle, which caused Alexander to begin cursing profusely. James observed the spectacle with something akin to morbid curiosity, like when one knew, rationally, that it was going to end in disaster but couldn't resist watching anyway. “Where is your kitchen staff?” he finally asked, dreading the answer.

Alexander would have shrugged, had he not been too busy frantically trying to save the sauce. “I dismissed them for the night,” he admitted.

James groaned. “You do know that this is sort of their job, right?” he asked in an exasperated tone. This time, Alexander did shrug, even as the sauce emitted a sound which no food had the right to make. James reminded himself that punching the president would not help, no matter how satisfying it might feel. Besides, if he knocked Alexander unconscious, he would be left alone to explain to the foremost Hamiltonian just why his idol was not able to attend the very dinner he was hosting.

“What are you even supposed to be making?” James tilted his head in confusion.

“Mac and cheese,” Alexander winced. “I thought you would appreciate the irony.”

“I do,” James agreed readily, “but I also appreciate not having to explain to your Chief of Staff why the West Wing burned down because the president decided to _make dinner_.”

James settled on pushing Alexander away from the pot—which was _on fire, when did that even happen_. “Scootch, Hamilton,” he said sharply. “I'll attempt to salvage this,” the tone in which he said it implied that it was highly improbable that the dish in question could be redeemed.

Alexander's face lit up. “You would? Thank you!” he exclaimed vigorously. “I truly don't know how to repay you.”

“Very simply: stay away from the kitchen,” James scoffed. “I swear, you are an even bigger human disaster than Burr,” he muttered under his breath.

Alexander scowled. “I resent that!” he said grumpily, then perked up as a thought occurred to him. “Hey, do you know what happened to Burr today?”

“No, but you will doubtlessly inform me.”

“Okay, so it involved a stapler and a bunch of papers…”

James smiled as Alexander rambled, Alexander's voice washing over him as he cooked, since it was a surefire way of keeping him far away from the stove.

Alexander Hamilton: soldier, tactician, lawyer, abolitionist, politician, financier, president, polymath, polyglot, loquacious writer, talented orator, composer, poet, theoretician, the original advocate of a centralized federal government, the man to whom America owed her banks and the existence of her credit… and an utter cooking failure. James was fairly certain that there was no small amount of irony in there.

* * *

By the time Mr Chernow was scheduled to arrive, James had managed to get the dinner under control, although he had to boil the pasta anew, the old one having been beyond redemption. _(How, Hamilton.)_

When Chernow showed up, he wasn't startled at the fact that he wouldn' be dining with Alexander alone, so James presumed that Alexander had the decency of informing the man about James' presence at dinner, though he could not say that he would have been particularly surprised had Alexander just sprung the information right before dinner. It was an annoying habit that Alexander unfortunately shared with Thomas.

Alexander went to retrieve the food from the kitchen, leaving James to greet their guest. Chernow smiled when he saw James, offering a hand. “Mr Vice President!” he exclaimed, looking more excited at the prospect of a dinner than any dignified academic with three best-sellers to his name had any right to be. Then again, if this did not count as extenuating circumstances, nothing would.

James shook Chernow's proffered hand. “Please, call me James,” he said. “Dinners tend to get awkward fairly quickly if one sticks to formalities. I'd rather not have a repeat of my last dinner with Angela Merkel,” he winced at the memory.

Chernow looked like he would very much like to ask follow-up questions, but reigned himself in. “Then I insist that you call me Ron,” he grinned.

“Ron it is,” James agreed. “Now, unless Alexander somehow managed to burn the dinner while taking it from the stove,” which James would not have put it beyond Alexander, “we have a dinner to enjoy.”

* * *

“This is delicious,” Chernow hummed in approval. He turned to Alexander. “Did you make this?”

James suddenly began coughing as Alexander winced. “Not quite,” he confessed. “Jemmy made it. I mean, I would have loved to take the honour, but–”

“When I came in, the pot was on fire,” James supplied gleefully. “The last time, when he tried to cook, was back in college, and we ended up having to call the fire department.”

Alexander scowled. “You got to talk to Dolley, don't complain,” he objected.

James raised up his hands in surrender, though he was still grinning like a maniac. “Hey, I'm not complaining. Just pointing out that, for all that you managed to master virtually every single subject, you fail epically at cooking.”

Alexander rolled his eyes. “I love how supportive you are.”

“It's tough love, Alexander. Get used to it. Which reminds me,” James put down the fork and turned to look at Alexander. “You are going to either learn how to cook, or stop dismissing your kitchen staff,” he said decisively. “The White House shouldn't be in danger from its president.”

Alexander huffed. They ate in silence for a moment before Alexander spoke again. “So,” he said calmly, taking a bite of the macaroni, “let us be honest: we all know why you're here. You are here to see whether we are who we claim we are.”

James put down his fork. “ _Alexander!_ ” he admonished, “Let Mr Chernow eat in peace. Don't mix business with pleasure.”

Alexander beamed mischievously. “Jemmy, you know me too well to request that," he had the audacity to _wink_.

James groaned. “That's what I was afraid of.”

Chernow, who had hitherto been quietly following their exchange, now spoke up. “I don't mind at all, Mr Morrow,” his voice tinged with excitement.

“I thought that I told you to call me James,” James smiled.

“And I told you to call me Ron,” Chernow sit back, still sounding far too chipper for a simple dinner invitation. “But I concur with the president.”

“Alexander, please,” Alexander cut in, “since we are dispensing with formalities already. You're looking for proof that we are Hamilton and Madison. By all means—ask away anything you'd like.”

It was as if Chernow had simply been waiting for those words. With a speed and zeal that James had until now only seen in Alexander, he pounced upon them, firing off a wide variety of questions. Everything from 'what was the name of Hamilton's half-brother?' to 'why did Madison help Hamilton with his critique of Adams?' and 'when did Jefferson greet his guests in pyjamas?'.

Eventually, after nearly half an hour of exhaustive questioning, Chernow leaned back in his chair with something akin to awe in his gaze. "By God, you _are_ Hamilton and Madison," he said with wonder.

Alexander and James exchanged smug looks. James then turned to address Chernow. "Now that you believe us, may we finish our meal? It must have gone cold by now."

Alexander spent the rest of the meal regaling Chernow with funny anecdotes about his cabinet members — though, James noted curiously, Burr was the star of the overwhelming majority of them. When Alexander cast a speculative look at James, the other shook his head. "Don't even think about it. I have so much blackmail on you, it's not even funny anymore."

Alexander pouted and turned to face Chernow again. "The thing about keeping in touch with one's friends from college is that they always remember the absolutely _worst_ stories," he mock-grimaced.

James rolled his eyes in exasperation. "When it comes to you, it doesn't exactly take much."

Alexander stuck out his tongue. "At least I'm better than Aaron."

James snorted. "No, you're not. Have you heard me at all before dinner?”

Chernow looked like he might burst with questions, but he held his silence as the two politicians bantered. His inner historian was studying their interactions critically, already creating a psychological analysis of them.

“So I have a few questions that I am simply dying to ask,” Chernow said to Alexander.

“Let me guess,” Alexander grinned. “John Laurens.”

“John Laurens,” Chernow confirmed cheerfully.

“Yes, we were lovers,” Alexander said promptly. “It is past time that I put an end to all the bickering brought on by the editing of my prudish son. As one biographer of Queen James said,” at this, James snickered and Alexander's smile widened, “'In sexual matters, it is generally better to assume the obvious, unless there is some very good reason to think otherwise.' Anti-gay prejudice is not a good enough reason to think otherwise. I was very much in love with John, and, judging from his letters to me, the feeling was not unreciprocated.”

“Thomas Stevens.”

“No, he was not my father, at least not to my knowledge. Edward Stevens was not my half-brother, although he was the closest thing I ever had to a brother. I was certainly closer to him than to my biological brother, but then again, I made my own family. Blood is thicker than water, and all that.”

“Washington.”

“What about him?”

“What was he to you?”

Alexander thought for a moment on the best way to phrase his response. “At first, he was my commanding officer, then a friend, then something akin to a father.”

“Not a lover, then?” Chernow grinned.

James chortled as Alexander choked on his drink. The dinner was already looking brighter. Drawwood made a grave mistake in turning down her invitation.

* * *

“So,” James said quietly, “that went better than I had expected.”

They were sitting on the couches, sipping at their drinks in silence. Ron Chernow had left a scant few minutes ago, and only after extracting a promise from Alexander for an actual interview that he could use in a revision of _Alexander Hamilton._ He kept talking about 'the insights of the people in question being not only invaluable but also fundamental in expanding his understanding of Hamilton's personality and character, and of course, he would expound greatly upon his brief mention of John Laurens, since, if he had spent an entire chapter just on Hamilton's mistress, he had really not done his beloved Laurens enough justice.

James stopped listening around the time Chernow said 'love' three times in one sentence. He hoped that Chernow wasn't driving, because, though the man was certainly sober in terms of alcoholic consumption, he was delirious when it came to his excitement over meeting his longtime idol. Not a safe person to have behind the wheel of a car.

James tuned in just as Chernow asked him whether he could do a biography about him. James shot him a weird look and said that, if he meant James Madison, then he really did not need to ask for permission, but if it was so important to him then yes, by all means, as long as he did not try to make up any children for him, secret or illegitimate or otherwise. This then devolved into a discussion of how James could be sure, to which James, blushing slightly, gave the only answer he could: 'Because, dear sir, I have never had sex, so I find it highly unlikely that I should have fathered children.'

Alexander pounced upon this topic and steered it into a debate on the sexualities of the Founding Fathers, which then ended up being a shouting match between Alexander and James in regards to Thomas Jefferson's sexual relationship with his slaves in general and Sally Hemings in particular, one which James ended by yelling that 'dammit Alexander, it's not any of your fucking business! And as for slandering Thomas with talk of mistresses, do you really wanna have that conversation?'

Alexander scowled but didn't reply.

Chernow timidly asked whether any other Founding Fathers were alive. Alexander, knowing fully well that his response could only be taken one way but feeling honour-bound to explain (and wasn't _that_ the story of his life), said that he was not at liberty to tell. Chernow then asked excitedly whether he would be allowed to meet them. James shrugged and said that America was a free country and that Chernow was allowed to meet with whomever he wanted. He said all this deadpan, so Alexander assumed that he would be contacting Thomas sooner or later, asking whether he would be willing to reveal himself to Chernow. Alexander planned to have that very same conversation with John himself.

The enthusiastic historian also tried to prod Alexander about his relationship with Lafayette, but Alexander, learning from his old mistakes, declared that he would only have this conversation with Lafayette's permission and presence.

Chernow eventually left, and Alexander and James moved over to the living room. James eyed his glass contemplatively.

Alexander shrugged. “That it did,” he agreed. “But I didn't exactly expect him to attack us.”

“He was all over you, Alexander,” James pointed out. “I have never seen a bigger fanboy, and I was there when you first met Thomas. You were all 'ooooh, are you Thomas Jefferson? The great Thomas Jefferson? As in, the author of the Declaration of Independence Thomas Jefferson? May I shake your hand? May I hold it? It's so precious!'” James did a bad imitation of Alexander's voice.

Alexander waved James away. “You are so annoying sometimes. Why am I friends with you again?”

“Because I'm good at making sure that you don't work yourself into an early grave, or, barring that, that you don't completely destroy your reputation by arguing with Trump about something inane again,” James said, eyes twinkling with mirth. “And because I would rather be your friend than your enemy,” he added, this time more solemnly.

Alexander nodded. “We tried that. It did not end particularly well for either of us.”

“The term 'mutually assured destruction' comes to mind,” James said, then yawned.

Alexander snickered. “Come on, lightweight, your guest bedroom is that way.”

James glowered. “I am not a lightweight,” he protested, though the efforts were ruined by the fact that he was unable to put down his glass without his hands shaking. “And I know very well where my bedroom is. At this point, it is not a guest bedroom anymore. Face it, I practically live here, Alexander.”

Alexander laughed. “Lafayette, you, and I. What a family we make,” he mused.

James raised his hands. “Hey, don't drag me into your dysfunctional relationship!”

“Our relationship isn't _dysfunctional_ ,” Alexander objected.

“Really?” James deadpanned. “Let's recount: you used to be an adopted son of sorts of Washington's, and so was Gilbert. You also flirted with each other in your letters during the war—don't look at me like that, Alexander, I did my research—even while you were fucking another member of your little group of friends. Then you refused to help Gilbert during the Revolution—I'm not judging you here, Alexander, _stop it—_ but you did open your home to his refugee son—who was, incidentally, named after your adopted dad. Then you met him back in college, invited him out for a date _without telling him you knew him in your past life_ , mind, and he remembered his past when you guys were having sex. Alexander, Hollywood would have made a fortune on a movie with that plot.”

Alexander scowled. “ _Well_ , one of us would have to be a woman, otherwise it would be too controversial.”

“Save your rant about the heteronormativity inherent in our society for someone who hasn't heard it seven times before,” James waved him away. He looked around, as if just noticing something. “Besides, where is Lafayette?” he asked. “He is usually back by now.”

Alexander grinned. “He said that he wanted to spend a bit of time with Herc, Peggy, Phillip, and Theo.”

“I see,” James said in lack of anything else to say.

Alexander pushed himself up. “What I see is my dear vice president not taking care of himself–”

James sniffed. “Pot meet kettle.”

“–and so I will have to drag said vice president to bed if I have to force him into my own bed,” Alexander continued as though James had not interrupted him.

“Kinky,” James remarked, wagging his eyebrows suggestively in a way he never would have permitted himself had he been any less inebriated.

Alexander snorted. “Yes, it's into bed with you,” he decided, standing up and crossing over to James. “Come on,” he grabbed James' hand impulsively, trying to force him up from the couch. James jerked away his hand, and Alexander waited patiently as James hesitatingly extended it back to Alexander.

With great exertion, Alexander succeeded in getting James onto his feet. Deciding that finding James' bedroom and dumping him there only to go back to his own bedroom was too exhausting, he followed his revised plan of just letting the both of them sleep in Alexander's own bed. The way Alexander saw this, there was no problem. It wasn't as if James was attracted to him, and Alexander wasn't interested in James in any way but platonically, and, in case Lafayette happened to come back earlier than expected, the Frenchman was well aware of those facts, just as he also knew that Alexander and James shared a special bond and that they were, for the most part, comfortable with sharing a bed.

With those thoughts swirling in his head, Alexander found a bedroom that resembled his own, and dragged James under the covers, not bothering to undress either of them beyond taking off their shoes. He gave in to sleep, his mind blissfully empty.

* * *

Lafayette, like Alexander, had perfected the art of getting twice add much work done in half the time, effectively making it seem to everyone else like he was always fooling around.

This meant that he had the time to take an afternoon off to visit an old friend of his—or new, really, depending on how one looked at it. He knew that Alexander and James had their weekly dinner, just as he knew that Alexander decided to invite the historian Ron Chernow to, in all probability, confirm Alexander and James' past identities.

He smiled wistfully as he entered the bedroom he shared with Alexander, only to find the man in question, along with his closest friend, sprawled out underneath the covers. He decided to leave them alone, actually using the bedroom across the hall for once. This was, of course, after he took several photos, fully intending to share them with Drawwood at a later date, because they were just too adorable for words.

* * *

 _Theo Faucette_ @speakupandsmile  
@AdotHam '@realDonaldTrump An open letter to the fat, arrogant, deceitful (…) embarrassment' Did you reference an actor playing yourself referencing you

 _Alexander Hampton_ @AdotHam  
@speakupandsmile As a lawyer, I plead the Fifth.

 _James Morrow_ @JemmyMorrow  
@AdotHam Which you wouldn't be able to do without MY amendments.

 _Alexander Hampton_ @AdotHam  
@JemmyMorrow Yes, we're all very grateful for your contribution, Jemmy.

* * *

 _The Argus_ @argus  
President Hampton had renowned historian Ron Chernow for dinner!

 _Ben Tamurge_ @BennyTheSpy  
@argus Ah yes, our president the cannibal feasts on yet another historian. #hannibal #presidenthamilton #cannibalPOTUS

 _James Wilson_ @ImAVampireSnookie  
@argus @BennyTheSpy Shhhh, that was supposed to have been a SECRET

 _Angelica Smith_ @archangel_smith  
@ImAVampireSnookie @BennyTheSpy As someone who has known POTUS in both his lifetimes, I can attest to the fact that he does not, in fact, eat.

 _Angelica Smith_ @archangel_smith  
@ImAVampireSnookie @BennyTheSpy A safer bet would be #vampirePOTUS

 _Ben Tamurge_ @BennyTheSpy  
@ImAVampireSnookie @archangel_smith It's official, folks. @AdotHam is a vampire.

* * *

“Anything exciting happen while I was asleep?” Alexander asked cheerfully, stepping into the cabinet meeting. The room fell silent as all conversations ceased and all heads turned in Alexander's direction.

Angelica shrugged. ”That depends on how you define 'exciting',” she said, still perusing her phone. ”There are four separate BuzzFeed articles about your Twitter account alone. I lost count of the ones with the hashtag 'presidenthamilton'. Incidentally, most of them also have the hashtag 'can you believe this guy', but I'm choosing to view that in a positive light.”

Drawwood lifted up her head from where she had let it collapse on top of her stack of papers, narrowly missing the coffee. “You have also gone, in the span of three hours, from being a human to a cannibal to a vampire.”

Alexander blinked, not knowing which part of the sentence to deal with first. He settled on a simple “What.”

Lafayette grinned. “You have Angelica over there to thank for the latter part,” he indicated the woman still idly browsing her phone. “She saw that you were being accused of cannibalism, and promptly pointed out that you don't eat. Or sleep. Which, you know, I have to agree with. As your boyfriend, I can confirm that James gets laid more often than you get sleep.”

James lifted an eyebrow. “I don't do sex.”

“Exactly,” Angelica and Lafayette said in unison, then grinned at each other.

Schmidt coughed, grabbing the attention of everyone in the room. “As lovely as it is to discuss our vice president's lack of a sex life”—James rolled his eyes but did not comment—“we do have a country to run, people.”

Alexander nodded. “That we do,” he approached his seat and sat down. “Please, take a seat. First order of business today is Secretary Drawwood's financial plan. Two things before we begin. Lafayette,” he glared at the man on his right, “if I see one single paper airplane today, I _will_ change the legislature prohibiting me from firing a cabinet member. Second,” he addressed the room at large, “no singing. Especially not _Hamilton_ , and especially especially not any of the Cabinet Battles,” he emphasized pointedly. “Questions?” Drawwood began waving her hand dramatically, as if a student trying to attract the attention of a teacher. “Yes?” Alexander said with a sigh.

“Is 'especially especially' even an acceptable way of expressing–“

“Just _get on with it_ , Drawwood.”

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: my personal dictionary keeps wanting to correct 'Chernow' into 'Chernobyl'.
> 
> Have a happy new year, everyone! May 2017 be better than 2016, because everyone and their mother knows '16 royally sucked.
> 
> Weird request: decent ship name for Hamilton/Lafayette/Jefferson/Laurens? (No, it's not what you think.)


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